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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28347771">When Happiness Walks In, Always Give It a Comfortable Seat</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/OGMadster/pseuds/OGMadster'>OGMadster</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Warrior of Light and his Loves: Kisstober 2020 Collection [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Final Fantasy XIV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>First Meetings, M/M</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-26</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-10 20:28:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,983</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28347771</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/OGMadster/pseuds/OGMadster</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Haurchefant has always fallen fast and hard for heroic types, and this time is no exception.</p><p>---</p><p>With thanks to twitter user kowaretaP for the Kisstober prompts.<br/>Further info in end notes.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV)/Haurchefant Greystone</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>A Warrior of Light and his Loves: Kisstober 2020 Collection [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/2076024</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>25</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>When Happiness Walks In, Always Give It a Comfortable Seat</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>He came into the map room at Camp Dragonhead and Haurchefant noticed him immediately. It was nigh impossible not to notice him. Haurchefant was tall, even by Elezen considerations, but this adventurer was taller still. He had skin like fine charcoal powder, grey-black and soft seeming, and hair black as a Coerthas midnight. The latter was flecked with fresh snowflakes that would soon melt and vanish from the heat of the fire, though while they remained they looked like the far-off twinkle of minute stars. He was brushing the snow from his shoulders, tapping the toes of his boots near the door. The sword at his hip and shield on his back showed him to be a warrior. Haurchefant tore his eyes away. If this stranger was here for him he would know ere long, and it was certainly not seemly for a knight, let alone a Lord, of House Fortemps to be caught staring.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The adventurer crossed the floor, skirting the map table, and Haurchefant tried to look focused on the papers in front of him - an obvious ruse to anyone who knew him - though the intensity of his look was from attempting to follow his unexpected guest in his periphery as much as possible.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Excuse me,” the stranger said in a voice soft as newfallen snow in the morning. “Might you direct me to Lord Haurchefant?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Haurchefant praised the Fury that he was looking for him after all. He looked up to meet his gaze and was instantly stilled: this adventurer had crimson eyes. The red of roses, or of a sunset on the eve of battle. They were positively beautiful. “You have found him,” he answered, trying to seem neutral. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I was bade to show you this,” the adventurer said, offering him a letter bearing the seal of House Haillenarte.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>His distraction stilled, silenced on the instant. Haillenarte had been a troubled House of late and dread murmured in him at whatever news this missive might bear. “Thank you,” he said as he took it, breaking the seal. His eyes zipped over the page, recognizing Francel’s handwriting immediately.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Lord Haurchefant,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I present to you Kyler Drake, adventurer; Cid Garlond, engineer; and Alphinaud Levilleur; all associated with the Scions of the Seventh Dawn. They are seeking Garlond’s airship, the Enterprise, which was last sighted above Coerthas before the Calamity. Though they have attempted to gain knowledge and aid they have found little of either. They have done me a kindness, and in return I assured them that you and House Fortemps would support them in whatever way you are able.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>As for the matter of the kindness, Ser Carrilaut sent them to me at Skyfire Locks with a warning that a Dravanian Rosary has been found amongst possessions of mine and furthermore that Lord Portelaine is aware of this discovery. Though I have never laid eyes on such an object, this shall certainly lead to yet another mark against my House and I do not doubt I shall have to answer to Inquisitors ere long. </span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You have ever been my closest friend and ally, and I would rather you hear of this matter from me than from some other source.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Ever yours,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Lord Francel de Haillenarte</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>A storm of emotions brewed in Haurchefant’s chest, but he took in a steadying breath. First, the matter closest at hand. He met the adventurer’s eyes again - for this most assuredly </span>
  <em>
    <span>must</span>
  </em>
  <span> be the adventurer, with his striking scar that ran across the bridge of his nose to under his left eye and his plainly lean, muscular frame, the power of which was apparent even with the armor he wore - and mustered a smile.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Welcome to Camp Dragonhead,” he said, setting the letter of introduction aside. “I believe I have the pleasure of addressing Master Drake?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>The stranger’s eyes closed momentarily, his mouth quirking at the corners as though to hold back a smile, a breath that could have been a laugh stealing from him. The corners of his lips failed, if the goal was to wholly prevent that smile. “Kyler,” he said, and offered a hand. “Yes.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Kyler,” he shook his hand. His grip was firm. “A pleasure to meet you,” he said, and felt he truly meant it. “Your two companions are here as well?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“They sent me ahead,” Kyler answered him. His voice was stronger, now, its rich tones pleasant to listen to, lower than his own, but not deep. “They should be along shortly.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Splendid,” Haurchefant nodded. “The three of you are welcome to stay here as guests of House Fortemps. I can make certain inquiries for you after your ship.”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Though he did not express it openly, Haurchefant watched as relief moved through Kyler, his shoulders dropping slightly, his posture settling, even something in his face seeming to relax. He noted as he shifted that Kyler also had a scar that ran from his right cheek over his eye, maybe even onto his brow, though the hair that framed his face, just past his chin at its longest, obscured it, and on the opposite side another interrupted his elegant but strong jawline. “We would deeply appreciate that,” he said, his smile building.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A friend to Lord Francel is a friend of mine,” he replied, smiling back. “I shall have rooms made up for you. Ser Corentiaux, if you would inform a member of the staff,” he said as an aside, the young Knight already giving him a slight bow and heading for the door. “Might I show you about the camp?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Kyler’s smile took on a different shape, perhaps a hint of shyness. “I wouldn’t want to trouble you, Lord Haurchefant,” he said. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“It is no trouble at all,” he replied, and truly meant it.</span>
</p><p> </p>
<hr/><p> </p><p>
  <span>Witchdrop. That terrible chasm in the earth, jagged and raw looking as a claw raked through flesh. Francel, youthful and straight-backed, defiant, poised at its edge. It was a sight Haurchefant would never forget. Nor would he forget everything that came after: Kyler, the adventurer, wielding a broadsword and a shield in the snow as though he was born with a blade in hand, how great fat flakes eddied about him, carried on the currents made by his motions, the determination of his expression, not wrathful or feral, horrified or fearful, steady. Confident and quietly so. He was the eye of his own personal storm and Haurchefant would have given much to be able to watch him longer, but Francel needed him, and he needed to focus on his enemy. It should have come as a surprise that an Ishgardian Inquisitor and his Temple Knights made that list today, but it didn’t: anyone who threatened his best friend was automatically, in the purest sense of the word, Huarchefant’s adversary.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He had focused on his task, on defending Francel, but before long all eyes were on one of the Temple Knights as he roared, and with the hideous sounds of rending metal and ripping fabric, his body burst through clothes and armor both, his true Dravanian form exposed. The only one who did not hesitate or freeze from shock was Kyler. He dashed forward, striking and parrying and, at last, drove his sword home. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>He hadn’t let Haurchefant thank him for protecting Francel, indeed for protecting him. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I promised that I would,” he’d said, cleaning his blade in the snow before sheathing it with a decisive clack that sparked inexplicable excitement in Haurchefant. Perhaps not so inexplicable; he’d always lost his head and his heart to people of skill and capability. Kyler’s unassuming air; his lack of swagger; his simple, unassuming </span>
  <em>
    <span>humility</span>
  </em>
  <span>, those traits were less common in concert with such skill. It made him all the more intriguing. All the more attractive.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Haurchefant came back to himself watching the fire, tracing the rim of his mug idly. How often had he played that scene over and again in his mind, remembering the crimson flash of Kyler’s vibrant eyes, the stark contrast between his dark-silver armor and black clothing and the white of the landscape, the strength of his stance, of his hand on the hilt? Of the brace of his back as he charged forward toward a heretic in dragon-shape without missing a beat? Or indeed of the keenness of his look, the soft of his voice as he checked on Francel, how he bowed his head to better see into the shorter Elezen’s face? Where had this beautiful, powerful Duskwight come from? And, more importantly, when was Haurchefant going to see him again?</span>
</p><p>
  <span>He swallowed past a dry throat, raising his drink to his lips to be the remedy. Even the brandy in his cocoa did nothing to chase away the persistence of that last question. </span>
</p><p>
  <span>As though in answer to his thoughts, he heard the grate of the doors. Who could possibly be calling at this hour? Rising to his feet, he stuck his head into the map-room from his private sitting room and saw a knight dressed in House Durendaire colors, the badge of a messenger on his sleeve.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“Well come, Ser,” Haurchefant greeted him, crossing the floor and setting his mug on his desk on the way. “What brings you here so late?”</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“A message for you, Lord Haurchefant,” he replied. His light brown cheeks and nose were ruddy from the brutal cold of a Coerthas night and wind howled in the flue. He produced a letter, folded crisply but otherwise plain and unadorned.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>“I thank you,” he said, taking it. “But please, come warm yourself, it’s cold as the seventh hell out there.” He steered the knight toward the roaring fire and pulled a chair up for him by way of insisting. It was downright reckless to send a messenger out in a gale like this, and it made his stomach knot at what could possibly be contained in the unassuming paper he held. Whatever news it bore could wait until he rang for some brandy to warm this poor sod’s marrow.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>That done, he went to his desk by force of habit and unfolded the page. A strong, clear hand had written:</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Lord Haurchefant,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>We have recovered the Enterprise from the Stone Vigil.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>He straightened up at that. The Stone Vigil had been occupied by Dravanians for some time.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>It was no small task, but it is done. She is airworthy enough for Cid to limp her to Gridania for repairs, but we are losing daylight, and that is the reason you hold this letter. I would much rather have told you all this in person, and for the fact I am not, I am sorry.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>You offered us aid and friendship when we were losing hope we might find them, and we are grateful: I am grateful. Because of your help we are one step closer to Garuda, so-called Lady of the Vortex, the Primal summoned by our Ixali neighbors.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>Haurchefant blinked, stopped, and reread that sentence. They were going to pilot an airship against a Primal, and one with command of the winds at that? His interest more than piqued, he hurried on.</span>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I would write more but time is against me. So I say again, thank you, a hundred times. And I promise to answer any questions you may have for me next time I visit Camp Dragonhead.</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Fondly,</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Kyler Drake</span>
  </em>
</p><p>
  <span>His eyes stuck on “fondly,” on the strength of the strokes of the </span>
  <em>
    <span>F </span>
  </em>
  <span>and the stutter of the comma, as though perhaps he had hesitated over the word once it was done, on the shapes of his name, on his “I promise” and “next time I visit.” It was all certainties, concrete, no “mayhaps” or “if.” It was </span>
  <em>
    <span>when</span>
  </em>
  <span>, and all of it filled Haurchefant with a rush of warmth.</span>
</p><p>
  <span>Fondly. </span>
  <em>
    <span>Fondly.</span>
  </em>
  <span> Trying in vain to master his smile, he folded the letter back up and tucked it into the pocket over his heart.</span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading! If you'd like to wallow in brain worms with me please feel free to hit me up on twitter @ScruffyChocoboi!</p><p>This is part of an ongoing and evolving collection!<br/>In October, twitter user @kowaretaP posted a prompt list called Kisstober delineated as follows:<br/>Days 1-9: First Kiss<br/>Days 10-16: Fluffy Hours<br/>Days 17-23: Tension<br/>Days 24-31: Goodbye<br/>along with encouragement to alter them as desired. I did some sketches for the polycule, but the brain worms took over and had me writing the scenarios too. I also added a prequel section I've been calling "First Sight, First Pangs."</p><p>This piece is one of the "First Sight, First Pangs" pieces.<br/>The title is a reference :3c</p><p>Haurcehfant's First Sight correlates with quest 2.0.119, "The Rose and the Unicorn"<br/>Haurchefant's First Pangs correlates with quest 2.0.132, "In Pursuit of the Past"</p></blockquote></div></div>
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